


Something In The Air

by Jimlockian



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dubious Consent, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, NSFW, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Sheriarty - Freeform, Threesome - M/M/M, jimlock, johniarty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:46:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimlockian/pseuds/Jimlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Adorable, but three can play at that.” Jim says from off to the side, interrupting Sherlock's moment, but not deterring John...<br/>NSFW, pure smut; Non-con but it does not read like one at all. My way to work out smutty kinks! Warning: Graphic descriptions of intercourse, aka NSFW content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Want This

**Author's Note:**

> I swear, I do not like ridiculous AUs... but.. I admit this premise is absurd. The outcome, however, is delightful. 
> 
> Credit to Doyle, Moffat, & Gatiss, no copyright infringement intended. Just having fun!

Meeting Jim from IT should not bother John, but it did. When the short dark haired man sauntered in it was obvious Molly was not his intention, but John did not pick up on the fact that he was gay. He was irritated that Sherlock did, and that Sherlock did not let Jim down in the same way he had John at Angelo's. _Peculiar feeling, jealousy,_ thought John, _even with friends.._

Jim from IT has his number discarded before Sherlock and John leave St. Bart's. All seems back to normal...

Until Jim from IT was revealed to be James Moriarty. Until John had his life hung like a thread in the wind in front of him, with Jim blowing just to watch it dance. Until Sherlock realized that he had something to lose...

But the most harrowing event that night was not what happened at the pool. It's what came after.

* * *

  
  
When Sherlock and John arrive back at 221b they both have only rest on their agendas. The emotionally charged events of the day have left them exhausted, ready to crawl into bed and sleep like logs, but something is slightly amiss. Even tired and off the case Sherlock notices the way certain things are askew from their normal positions. The detective is abruptly on alert.

“Sherlock, did you leave something on?” John turns toward him with mild confusion as a billow of smoke floats over their heads.

More like water vapor than actual smoke, Sherlock notes, as he is too busy paying attention to detail to reply to John. There is no burning scent within the flat, either. Sherlock had not left any experiments behind, this is not his doing nor John's.

“John I think you should cover your mouth.” Orders the detective stiffly, raising his hand and stretching the long sleeve to fit over his mouth and nostrils. Shaggy brows narrow as Moriarty steps out of their kitchen, still attired in the same suit. He must have come directly from the pool to their flat.

“You bloody psychopath.” John says in soft awe, staring wide eyed while fumbling to hold both his Army Browning L9A1 and keep a hand over his mouth. The want of security, of the butt of the grip against his palm, is too much and John removes his hand from his lips.

“John, gas!” Sherlock cries, muffled through his palm but audible. He has already ascertained the culprit is some airborne neurotoxin – further analysis would reveal what, but there is not time at the present.

“It's alright, Sherlock. You can fix this later.” John does not take his eyes off the man languishing in the doorway, wearing a Westwood and a less-dangerous smile. “It's Moriarty.” A touch of venom in that otherwise benevolent doctor's voice when their nemesis is before them.  
  
“So loyal - isn't it touching?” Jim shoves his hands in his pockets, utterly relaxed. “You don't see these moments, unless you're up against it.” He wears no breathing mask, nothing at all to protect his lips from the fumes he is exposing them to.

Of course that does not mean Moriarty is contaminating himself, and Sherlock is not so blind to think such. “You've built up an immunity to this.”

“Of course not – I want _this_.” Jim says breathlessly, grinning like a maniac. “You want this – or you will.”

Sherlock hears a clatter and whips his head to the right. John's gun has fallen from his hands, dropped to the ground. Weaponless against Moriarty, that unshakable militant man, it makes Sherlock's eyes widen to see John starting to smile at Jim.

“John!” Sherlock cries sharply, half-hoping to jog him out of it but the detective already sees the signs; That tense frame gone slack, far too relaxed for the enemy they were up against. John is shutting down.

Sherlock takes a step back, out of the kitchen, intending to retreat and contact Scotland Yard. He takes a firm grip on John's jumper and tugs the man out with him. Sherlock was prepared for Jim to attack, he expected that but it did not come. However, even the great Sherlock Holmes did not expect for John to turn and throw himself on Sherlock. The doctor suddenly hugging tightly to him, hands resting on Sherlock's ample shoulder's, while standing on tiptoe to reach pale slender lips. The kiss is romantic, rather sweet all things considered.

“Adorable, but three can play at that.” Jim says from off to the side, interrupting Sherlock's moment, but not deterring John. Sherlock flushes as he realizes that he has been returning the kiss.. Even knowing that John is under some chemical aphrodisiac. For a moment he is disgusted with himself for taking advantage, then John presses against him harder a second time, nipping his lower lip and the inexperienced detective's body begins responding.

Sherlock roughly pushes John back, shaking his head and keeping his hand firmly over his mouth and nostrils. “You're not thinking clearly, John.” He tries to speak clearly to compensate for the muffling, and is irritated to find Jim smirking toothily at him in the doorway.

“This is the clearest I've been..” John mutters in a stupor, stepping forward to close the gap Sherlock forcefully made a moment prior.

Maybe it's John's words, or the chemicals slowly seeping from the air into his the bloodstream from his lungs. Maybe it is a whole lot of things from a pent up life of frustration and disillusionment. Most likely, though, it is the airborne drug that made Sherlock pull his hand from his mouth to hurriedly grip John's cotton wool-covered shoulders, planting a rough kiss on him.

When Moriarty steps over to Sherlock and lays a hand on his bony shoulder the detective has enough functioning left in his cortex to narrow his eyes, “You mad, manipulative..” He starts in contempt and then slows to a softer tone, “Brilliant.. bastard...”  


Jim nods gently, his eyes so wide from the effects of the toxin, or so Sherlock tries to tell himself. They are not at all beautiful.. but they are. So gorgeous. Pearly white so moist looking, surrounding a small island of darkness. Sherlock stares at his nemesis while the impatient to continue John starts licking up his flatmate's throat.

Sherlock forgets all about Jim Moriarty the mass-murdering Irish lunatic who has played games with innocents and with his only friend. All Sherlock can see is some gorgeous dark haired Irish lad with a perfectly sleek physique. Plush looking lips swoop up as Jim leans to get to Sherlock, and obligingly he leans down the rest of the way. Jim's tongue tastes sweet, and cool compared to John's. Even in this compromised mental state Sherlock still retains the basics and can discern a hint of tobacco and even less noticeable a touch of copper. His tongue invades to seek more and laps along Jim's mouth, finding the source – a rough bit of his velvet-soft inner cheek has been masticated. Anticipation, Sherlock realizes, while wrapping one arm around Jim and the other around John as both lavish him with attention.


	2. Giddy Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting to use the term 'deranged humping' in relation to Jim.. This chapter is just me getting out some Jim-kinks but I've barely hit the tip of the iceberg.

When Sherlock could take it no longer he reaches down and yanks Jim up by the starched collar of his expensive suit, mashing their lips together without any hint of grace. The two men became lost in their florid passion, trying to duel with their tongues; It came down to who could push back into whose mouth while still ravaging the other. Jim never quite plays fair, always bringing his teeth in until it hurt.

There is a tiny part of Sherlock that grows smug noticing Jim's kisses are needy and when he hears the lurid sounds caught up in Jim's throat it sends a shot of electricity to his groin. The past honestly does not matter though it is not forgotten – just suddenly a far, fuzzy memory – and the present is so vivid and lively their minds do not want to veer away. Right now Moriarty's attempt on John's life to get to Sherlock is a far second to the skill of his tongue.

As soon as Jim pulls off him for air John takes his place. So Sherlock, out of necessity, quickly learns how to breath through his nose. John's kiss is sweeter and clumsier than Jim's. Dulled from the drug there is not much fight in John's kisses, just a sensual urge to set lips plush against each other. Perhaps a part of him wanted this all along, but this is not the time for exploring such deep thought. Instant gratification is all John can focus on yet he still wants a less rushed embrace.

Suddenly Moriarty grabs hold of John and tears him off Sherlock's cupid's bow. The criminal growls and lunges for John's mouth, gnashing his teeth into the doctor's lower lip until he whimpers discontentedly. Jim presses his hands against John's bottom, driving them together to feel him squirm. It starts roughly, and only ends with painful grating teeth.

When he finally lets John free the doctor presses against Sherlock's chest and the detective finds his hormones driving him to hug John to his body, in a move the doctor takes as comfort. Before John's addled mind can focus on his fear, a wave of desire hits and the militant doctor wraps his arms around Sherlock, standing up straight to be kissed.

The brief moment seems to have knocked a touch of realization in Jim, who moves away from the pair. They are too enchanted with each other to truly notice his departure - They feel his body move away from the intimacy of theirs, but do not care enough to react. John's passion is mounting and his kisses have lost their initial chaste quality. His lips red and swollen from Jim's dangerous advances.  
  
Jim slings a shoulder bag under his arm and walks in with a slightly sinister smile, it would likely have been worse if not for the erection trapped in trousers that he had to get off. They were so uncomfortable to Jim all of a sudden. He pushes the two men and dislodges them from each other. Jim bumps the side of his hip against John's, “Bedroom.”

For a second it looks like either of the two might feebly argue but Jim silences both by kissing John. Sherlock ends up watching the shorter men tangle together, with Jim using the kiss as a distraction to start palming John through his trousers with his free hand. They're some beautiful symphony of opposites – John's pure soul, and Jim's black one, John's laid back attire and Jim's perfect Westwood suit, brown earthy toned John and dark Jim. Sherlock suddenly finds himself agreeing with Moriarty for the first time – bedroom indeed.

Sherlock grabs Jim by the back of his shirt collar and drags him off John, almost choking the villain for a moment. Sherlock steps into the gap and wraps John up in his arms. They've barely begun to kiss when Sherlock starts walking them backward into the hall. His bedroom is not far off at all.

Suddenly a jolt of momentum hits him from behind, a fleshy sort of moving wall. It turns out to be Jim, having jumped on Sherlock, or tried.. His judgment must be impaired from the drug as he hits Sherlock's back and falls instead.

It is enough to knock the kissing detective and sidekick loose though, and in a moment Jim clambers to his feet, picks up his bag, and scrambles up Sherlock's back. Jim digs his ankles into his arch-nemesis and cries out with intoxicated enthusiasm, “Giddy up!”

John laughs out loud, equally uninhibited though not as wildly-strung as Jim Moriarty. It is ridiculous to see his flatmate with his enemy on his back, and even with an erection the action has annoyed Sherlock. Though John does find that Jim's comparison is a good one – Sherlock is a stallion, all sleek limbs, and John sees the slight hints of muscle under those fine suits. An alabaster steed with an onyx mane, that would be Sherlock – and Jim? Jim would be the jockey, short with aerodynamic angles with the wind through his immobile slick hair. Though, the image might less be related to his physical traits and more to his hips pumping against Sherlock's back as he tugs on the detective's hair to urge him forward.

Jim leans forward, letting the one hand gripping Sherlock's hair pull his weight forward. He enjoys the way the curly haired man winces at the touch, and he feels the muscles in Sherlock's back tighten against his chest. The criminal groans in his rutting, pausing to take a breath and cry out, “Shoot a horse, ride a detective!”

Sherlock protests by staying still, and trying to get Jim's ankles off him but the man is remarkably squirmy. John ceases the battle like the middleman he is, with no win or loss on either side, by pushing on Jim's back. He drives them through the hall – Sherlock cannot fight against both Jim's body weight and John's application of force.

John only stops when Sherlock snaps at him, “John!” As any further would leave him ramming up against the wall. Sherlock reaches around and boxes Jim on one ear to get him to stop his deranged humping before getting the door to his bedroom open and stumbling inside with John hot on his heels.  


	3. Judo & Honesty

As soon as he spots a bed Jim throws the shoulder bag he has been carrying onto it. The nimble man begins to work the buttons on his shirt while his ankles keep his grip on the detective tight. Sherlock would have struggled more, if John had not been trying to get Sherlock's suit jacket off while laying a lip lock on him. It is impossible with Moriarty atop him, but exposing Sherlock's chest seems a pleasing enough goal for John.

Someone's arm hits the tall thin lamp in the corner, knocking it over where it stays for the rest of the evening. Given the sudden thrusting of limbs as they all scurry to get free of their garments there is no telling who knocks what.  
  
It takes no more than a minute for John to bare Sherlock's pale chest and dark nipples. Jim, peering over Sherlock's head, spots that and pops the last of his own buttons off in an attempt to quickly join in. He lets his hands rub along Sherlock's pectorals, inhaling the heady pine scent of his locks.

Moriarty notices a certificate on the wall and recognizes the writing in kantō . “You should show me a little judo sometime..” Jim whispers, leaning down to lick the rim of Sherlock's ear. He snickers until Sherlock's hands take his and he flips the consulting criminal. Jim lands flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him.

“How was that?” Sherlock mutters with his characteristic cool stare, though his lips quirk upward at the perfection of his audacity that is Moriarty coughing and panting in the middle of his bed.

John has made comments about Sherlock's coat and his upturned collar before, but this time he lets out a breath and, without any embarrassment, murmurs, “You are brilliant.. and gorgeous..” A faint glow like the first hints of a sunrise come to John's face as Sherlock looks upon him after that, seeing the majesty of Sherlock's image in John's eyes.

Still feeling Jim's eyes, the man not panting for his breath any longer, John looks over and swallows. The airborne chemical unhinges their judgment, a fact proven as he stares at Jim and murmurs dazedly, “And you're cute.”

Now free of the short villainous man, Sherlock steps to John and cups his cheeks. John's eyes rivet to the powerful powder gray-blues. They are so bright and hopeful, so unusually out of character. The man beholding the inspiring sight sighs when Sherlock caresses his cheek and leans in, unhurried and careful. Their kiss is a slow sensual ballet, refined yet innocent, still very much a fledgling romance between them. John can feel that this is Sherlock's reply to his unabashed praise, and he thinks his own words have been trumped by Sherlock's embrace.  
  
They pull back panting for breath when Sherlock notices Jim searching through his now open bag, making little noises of amusement or tutting when pushing something aside. He eyes the shorter man's back – a perfectly smooth figure – and slowly moves away from John, looming over the bed.

With a slight shadow now cast on him Jim looks over his shoulder, smirking. He rolls over and makes a show of unzipping his trousers and squirming out of them. Sherlock takes hold on a pant leg and helps his nemesis disrobe.

Jim catches a look of uncertainty on John's face and dispels it by getting to his knees and crawling two steps across the bed. A single wriggle of his finger and John steps forward, letting Jim's cheek brush against his thigh. Their arch-villain makes a show out of nosing John's trousers and licking the rough fabric until its dark with wet patches on either side.

Moriarty points to Sherlock then John, giving the doctor a stare – Jim's meaning to hurry Sherlock's trousers along is clear, and John obeys. Though form fitting, the black slacks fall easily to the floor and the younger Holmes steps out of them. Once the second of them is down to boxers – revealing porcelain skin and elegant long limbs – Jim tugs John into bed so that he falls as a sprawling figure. The slightly taller man wrestles to get John into the position he wants; Which is John on his back.

Sherlock's boxers are tented from the hallucinogenic aphrodisiac that he would later meticulously test to uncover its chemical formula. He watches as Jim tussles with John and kneels on the edge of the bed. John, spying him upside down from his recumbent position, slides over by putting his feet against the mattress. His nose nudges against the inside of Sherlock's leg.

Fathoming John's intention before Sherlock does, Jim frees John of his grasp and watches with a growing smirk. The normally quiet doctor is insistent on his journey to Sherlock. He pushes his way before the detective's legs and takes a slow lick against the moist patch that must be the head of Sherlock's shaft pressing against his boxers. The detective bottles up a groan, and the other two both know it. The ebony haired man hooks his thumbs into his boxers and pulls them down, then takes hold of John's temples and guides him the rest of the way forward.

Suddenly Jim is certain from the way Sherlock is holding John's head that these two have done this before. The detective's bright eyes sunk closed in pleasure as John quickly took him between plump lips. No first time fidgets, nothing but an ease that went beyond the chemical ravaging their mental capabilities. Even if both had been quite drunk after that particular Boxing Day, their bodies still retain muscle memory of the blow-jobs they had given each other.

That far too telling ease stirs up the embers in Jim's heart. His eyes darken to the hue of the midnight hour, and become equally macabre. With another sudden burst of energy like that of moments prior, when he rode Sherlock through the hall for a spate, Jim lunges onto John and takes a hold of the doctor's hindquarters. John squirms a little as Moriarty undresses him, not minding the soft hands but the one piloting them was rough enough to bruise his hip. John's trousers and boxers are yanked and left down around his knees in an ungainly fashion.  
  
Jim winds one hand in John's trousers to successfully keep a hold of him while the devilish fingers slide between John's round buttocks. He starts with the pad if his finger, adding lube from the shoulder bag. John squirms more than Jim thought he would, driving the raging erection to painful heights. After one probing finger explored the quivering doctor Jim takes a small, thin vibrator and slips it into John. His fingers wander John's smooth curves lazily.

"Sherlock, would you mind?" Jim growls out, giving a predatory look that Sherlock seems to comprehend immediately; Not selfish, for once Jim is looking at Sherlock while clearly thinking of their mutual benefit.


	4. Pushing The Bar

John has been moving, jerkily and without much range of motion given that he is pinned between two men, but Sherlock only cares about the military man's mouth. The detective's shaft shudders between his lips when John's throat undulates. Sherlock pulls back when John begins to choke, and the doctor's tongue swiping toward the head of his shaft lets Sherlock know to thrust back between his lips.

He can feel John jerk here and there as the thin vibrator makes a previously disregarded part of his body suddenly inexpungible from his conscious attention. The fact that Sherlock's sac is hovering above his nostrils, filling him with the man's musky scent, also presses on John's mind.

Mentally, they are coherent, but they just do not find themselves caring about much outside the present brushes of flesh causing them heightened pleasure. Though, Jim does know enough to not plow into John carelessly, knowing that even the most erotic of potions can be destroyed by overwhelming anguish. Breaking John would break this spell cast over the trio.

So John had gotten the vibrator first, and Jim has let him tease Sherlock while it warmed him up, but now Jim wants his. He knows Sherlock will want this, too, and John, well, to Jim's eyes the man is begging.

Sherlock is busy thinking of the fact that John is at a perfect angle for their actions, as well as wondering how long his knees will last. Then, as Jim speaks, he looks to the man that is still his enemy and slowly slides backward to pull his hanging erection out from John's lips.  
  
Unable to sit on the sidelines, unable to merely observe, Jim's dangerous fingers slide between John's cheeks and removes the vibrator. He makes a theatrical show of removing John's shoes and the half hanging on trousers, tossing them off the bed, licking at each dip and crevice while his nose brushes the coarse hairs along John's legs.

Spreading John's legs wide not only lets Jim get all over him, but Sherlock gets to watch his flatmate get teased. The lack of a full mouth also mean John is free to groan and grunt at the prodding fingers, blazing tongue, and copious nipping. Both Sherlock and John's breaths hitch when Jim nips at John's sac and pulls back, making John's member bob when released. Jim repeats it, adding a soft growl.

Sherlock reaches out and gives John's nipple an experimental tweak, enjoying the higher pitched response. He begins to rub his fingers around the nub, still eying Jim whose mouth suckles and bites at John's bollocks until the skin under brown curls begins to redden. Sherlock cannot take his eyes off Jim's fingers ricocheting in and out of his flatmate's backside at slightly varying angles. John reaches up and clutches at Sherlock's outstretched arm, eyes wide and begging for more.

Jim pushes his fingers back inside John after squirting gleaning fluid onto his fingers from the small tube, feeling the slick, slightly stretched walls within the man and deciding that close enough is meeting the standard. Once there is more slickness within John than there is on his digits, Jim takes hold of John's hips, then gives Sherlock a pointed look. The detective lightly shook off the militant man's grip and took hold of John's shoulders, helping Moriarty to roll his best friend over. The two pale round buttocks that meet their gaze send fresh waves of heat through both men looking on.

Though blushing, John is hardly naive and understands what is about to happen. He desirously spreads both legs and lips, tilting his head backward. From above Sherlock laces his fingers around the back of John's head, spindly digits acting as his pillow. Before they can renew their joint touch, the madman comes between them again.

Jim takes hold of John's knees and yanks them, bringing the doctor out of his prone position, up onto his knees. He jerks the man between them, tugging him away from Sherlock's shaft while brushing the round triangular head of his against John's cheeks. John squirms and instinctively tightens his legs, and though Jim groans at the clenching plush flesh surrounding him he needs to spread John to get inside him.

Turning away from them, Moriarty fumbles in the shoulder bag just within reach. He takes out a long metal bar with black fabric handcuffs at each end. Sherlock estimates it as two feet long, possibly a bit more. The fabric looks like leather but even drugged Sherlock recognizes an imitation. Each cuff has holes and a loop similar to a belt for adjusting size, though why Sherlock cannot be sure until Jim begins to lock John into it. The man's left ankle first, tight enough that he will not thrash and chaff himself but not uncomfortably so. Then Jim squirms forward, getting between John's legs while bringing the bar down behind him. He angles his body to the side and likewise traps John's right ankle, catching Sherlock's eye and winking, “Just like an amusement park.”

The purpose of the bar is clear and unable to ignore, perhaps that is why Sherlock feels a touch of moisture in his lower back. The bar making it impossible for the doctor to close his legs. The sight of John's flushed cherubim cheeks against Sherlock's bedsheets while he pants softly inflames Sherlock's body. Sweat begins to gather from the sight of John forcefully spread apart.

Sherlock only has the front view. From his position kneeling between John's spread legs, Jim has a panorama of flesh before him. The ample plush bottom is stretched taut, his abused hole bared to the world. John is completely exposed and open for Jim's greedy eyes that further haze with lust with each passing minute.

Jim kneads into John's cheeks hard with one hand while fingering him with the other, not stopping until John quivers and lets out an audible whimper. The cool bar trembles against the back of Jim's ankles – it forces them close so that John cannot help but feel Jim's shaft poking into his backside.

“Shh,” Jim whispers, placing each hand on one of John's cheeks. The inviting wrinkled space gleaming from lubricant, bright red from all Jim's teasing. It takes little effort to line up his head and slowly push inside, feeling John arch his back at the sudden driving ache from his body widening.

Preparation or not, this is new to John. It stings, the stretching of his body feeling like more than he can handle. Sherlock watches him jerk under the unyielding Moriarty, and with his hands still in John's brown locks begins to tussle them for comfort. John looks up at him briefly but the angle hurts his neck too much, so he lays his left cheek against the bed, fists the sheets, and just breaths.

Penetration is slow going because Jim wants to enjoy John's virginal tightness. He smirks with closed eyes, leaning his pelvis against the pert cheeks bright from his play moments earlier. All the while the detective focuses on affectionate touches along John's skull and neck. The lack of completion to his blowjob less than vital with John's crinkled eyes and flinching features.  
  
It is only when Jim finally begins to move within John, snapping a moan from the doctor with his first thrust, that Sherlock is reminded of how achingly hard he is. A glance between his legs displays his proud erection, angling just slightly to one side as the sheen of John's saliva lays cool against his skin. The undeterred swollen ruddy member also catches Jim's eyes.

"Sherlock," Jim panted out with a hazed look in his eyes as his thrusts become a little more fluid with John relaxing beneath him, "Try me.." His smile more suggestive than his words, although a sudden throb of pleasure corrupts that grin out of existence moments later.


	5. Constriction & Friction

The detective moves away from John's top half, still amazed by the sight of him spread and taking in his nemesis. John's bulkier body jerks to and fro with Moriarty's movements, but the bar keeps him spread with little hope of moving away. Jim can thrust to his black heart's content, and he does. John keens softly, trying to muffle the sound but having it escape regardless, still needing some kind of outlet.

Sherlock swallows thickly while moving around John's left side. The man with ebony curls watches the hips pistoning against his best friend's backside, trying to discern a pattern of an overture or aria, like Jim's tapping keycode had been, but it is all nonsensical humping. His eyes finally rise back up.

For one with so dark a stare the whites of Jim's eyes are startlingly bright. While he's buried inside John, breaking the doctor's virginal tightness, they shine beyond the brilliance of the villain's teeth. Unsure of what possesses him – the shine of Jim's grin or the affects of the neurotoxin – Sherlock leans over and sinks his teeth into Jim's shoulder.

The groan from Jim does not come alone, but brings with it John's grunt; Sherlock's bite triggering the dark haired man to jerk deeply while inside his round bottomed paradise. Jim's thrusts are erratic, and seem to have no rhythm, but John is finding the addled relentlessness to be a slow building pleasure.

John's already panting from the penetration, locked in a mix of discomfort and erotic sensation. Sometimes his toes curl at the feeling, and yet others make his muscles seize up painfully. He can feel the passion building within his core, firm pressure like a stone in his stomach. John grinds his teeth even while panting, moist breath collecting on Sherlock's sheets.

Sherlock eases his lips and teeth over Jim's firm skin, dropping inward from the shoulder. His tongue is long and barely moist, a touch of dry mouth having come over him from the scene of John stretched and exposed from behind. Now that Sherlock can see it from this direct angle, he wants the same thing, but with Jim already at John now he understand where the urge behind the offer 'Try me' comes in.

The detective's artistic digits carefully sit themselves at the top of Jim's back, descending in as slow an exploration as he could handle with desire raging in his throbbing member. Juxtapose Jim like this allows Sherlock to watch the way John's tiny entrance widens, taking in the hard length. His hand creates a circular track on Jim's back while Sherlock continues to kiss and nip at Jim's shoulder, shapely cheek tilting sometimes to watch John's back undulate or tremble.

As much as observation is a joy, it cannot last forever and soon Sherlock's urging drives him to move the rest of the way behind Moriarty. His knees scoot forward to be as close as possible – the act may be new but a dullard could fathom the mechanics easily, and closeness of pelvises is a requirement. When Sherlock's knees hit the long silver bar he knows he is as close as possible.

The detective takes an experimental grip on one of Jim's buttocks, catching the way it makes his dark head lean back. An obvious, almost overdone, display of enjoyment that sends his bright blues to narrow. His free hand rises, settling on the other cheek, kneading gently. His arms jerking from the touch as his target is constantly in motion, but Sherlock does not mind.

The pale man's teasing is short lived, as so much foreplay between the trio has left Sherlock already hanging heavy with desire. Also, truth be told, it has been quite some time since his last sexual encounter – and none of them have been this thorough. Nothing Sherlock has done before ever delved so deep.

The detective's member still shining obscenely with John's spit while Sherlock tries to line himself up with Jim's entrance. He grunts at the difficulty and stops, grabbing Jim's hips pointedly, holding him in place. At first the shorter man wriggles in protest, making John hiss softly, but he catches on after a split second and stops.

Jim looks over his shoulder, deep amber gaze so heated, and stares at Sherlock with eyes that belong in no place other than a bedroom. It makes his stomach flip flop as much as the sight of John's exposed body did.

Sherlock shifts slightly, spreading his legs a little. Jim's buttocks the palest part of the man, yet still tanner than Sherlock's skin. His eyes rivet on the two opulent globes while spreading both apart to stare. Jim's hole is not as pink as John's, he notes.

Jim positively wriggles when Sherlock slides the head of his shaft against his hole, bearing backward to try and draw the detective in. John groans as Jim nearly pops out of him, but the man stills sharply as soon as Sherlock pushes through his entrance.

Once Sherlock begins to move within he is overcome by the clamping sensation. The constriction around his shaft positively uncategorical – the closest he can fathom is that it is the physical equivalent of a masterful deduction. Sherlock rams himself the rest of the way in like a novice, sending a high pitched grunt through Jim.

Being stuck sandwiched between John and Sherlock meant that Jim has to, for once, take things as they come. The rather eager virgin could barely wait to begin thrusting, and Jim does not mind. Though the dry entrance is a bit rough even for a man of his experience, how can he find fault with Sherlock whose barely audible pleased murmurings seem endless?

Luckily for Jim, inexperience also means that Sherlock does not realize the normal chain of events and he does not hold still to let Jim adjust. Instead he does what feels good – he starts thrusting.

Jim positively squeals in a most undignified manner. His hips buck, nearly pulling him out of John - Jim's head just starting to pull through John's hole, driving him taut and smoothing the wrinkles around the transparent ruby-red lube-gleaning shaft.

At first the Irishman's leg muscles clam up but he quickly lets that go, relaxing and allowing Sherlock to move his body, to control his pumping. The detective's rocky jerking motions now guiding his penetration of John. With the bar and their positioning not all of Sherlock could fit, but it still sends Jim's eyes to widen as Sherlock grabs his hips and jerks him backward to try and push deeper. John's hips are yanked back in tandem, Jim scratching at them hungrily in the process.

Though Jim does let Sherlock go to town, enjoying the unabashed passion suddenly unleashed, he does try and thrust back more fluidly. Slowly his efforts are shown as pleasing to Sherlock who tries to imitate them, to copy that easing in and out. Sherlock's shaft twitches within his mortal enemy.

Shivers from his nerves on continuous overdrive rock his body. The physical form he so ignored in the past now riveting him - His mind palace is imploding. Sherlock's bollocks tighten up against him and he bites his lower lip until it hurts. Not caring about the pain in his lip, how firmly he grips Jim's slender hips, or how lascivious the clapping of their flesh sounds, he focuses solely on the inflexibility surrounding his member as he thrusts to completion with a gasp.

Though not one to usually be spurred on by the orgasm of his bedfellow, Jim finds himself doing just that. His infamous enemy, his loathed equal, deposits within him while fully sheathed and it sends a tremble through his body. John gets thrust into a few more times before Jim looses it, pulling out while still cumming and leaving a dribbling trail against the still exposed face-down man's bottom.

John cries out softly before he can stop himself - his passions left to sizzle while the others' blaze before extinguishing. The other two are satiated, but although he enjoyed the first time it was too discomforting, too novel, and far too harsh for him to get pushed over the edge.

Jim chuckles darkly under his breath as he leans back and listens to John. In a rather intimate personable move he willfully leans against Sherlock's chest, resting his head on the detective's flat plane. “Want to watch me suck off John, Sherlock?” Murmurs Jim in a rather gentle post coital voice. He hums and nuzzles the detective halfheartedly, as all his preset plans and rules have disappeared with the toxic smoke-addled passion.

Sherlock half grunts in agreement, hands stiff around Jim's waist before he finally lets go and begins to move backward. His sensitive shaft feeling every inch of Jim's worn insides, a slight tremor escaping Sherlock at that erotic brush of cool air hitting him. The outside suddenly too loose, too cold, and so much less quality than Jim's rear. Still, Sherlock sinks down onto his rear end. The mattress sinking beneath him has never felt more welcoming. His shaft is limp and for once he cannot stop noticing it, noticing all the tingling sensations still afforded to him.

Jim has to struggle, leaning forward half over John, before he can shift the doctor's ankles and escape underneath the bar with a soft giggle. It might have been quicker had Sherlock helped, but it is impressive that the detective is still sitting up – helping the experienced Jim is out of the question. It might have gone quicker if Jim had taken the bar off, but he thinks it will improve the blowjob and it makes John look more appealing to him.

After being rolled over John flushes and bites back a whimper at the dark state of his swollen shaft. His legs extend up into the air, forced apart by the spreader bar Jim has left on so that now his clenching shaft and pulled-taut bollocks are bared to the world. John does not care about the ungainly bobbing of his erection.

John bends and unbends his knees to get a little blood flow after being stuck in the same spot, but as soon as Jim slips under the bar and positions his lips before John's glistening shaft he stops moving expectantly holding his breath, so aroused and wanting.

John nearly cries out with the intensity within him, built up from the ravenous lust of Jim thrusting away at him. Anticipation forces his intestines to tighten into knots that seem to vibrate. A heated shiver in his stomach that coils and coils into itself until John finds nothing in the world comparable to Jim's mouth puckering around him. That dastardly tongue wobbling against the underside while his hand fists the inches unable to slide into his mouth until John bucks his hips, unable to do much more with the bar though he tries to jerk them, and releases into Jim's mouth with a loud cry that makes Sherlock's weakened cock twitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't let this chapter's ending fool you, we're far from over.. Please comment/kudo! =)


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